I grew up going to public school and yet somehow I didn’t realize that I had been terribly sheltered from the world until I reached the seventh grade. We weren’t permitted to listen to most radio stations or watch MTV so my knowledge of music mostly centered around Amy Grant and Michael W. Smith. I thought I was listening to “rap” music when I heard the fast part of Rich Mullin’s “Awesome God.”I still remember wandering the aisles at Blockbuster searching for those so-called “music videos” I had heard people talking about. Today, when people talk about the “New Kids on the Block” (which happens more often than you’d think), I always have to hang my head in shame and admit that they were before my time.
This lack of knowledge presented a bit of a problem when my homework assignment for drama class was to lip sinc to any song of our choosing. I loved Amy Grant but I knew she wasn’t cool. Since my older, cooler sister was allowed to listen to KIIS FM even though the DJ was called “the nasty man”, I asked her for help. This is the story of when I learned that my cool, older sister was just as sheltered and dorky as I.
My dad’s team won the NAIA National championship last week. It was on ESPN so basically my dad’s a celebrity. I can get you a signed picture if you want one.
The Hardeman living room was pretty comical during the game. Me, my brother, sister-in-law, and our parents’ dog Nike all watched the game together, clapping and cheering wildly while also trying to jinx the other team. I have never been so nervous watching a basketball game.
It’s been almost three years and there are still some mornings I wake up and wish I was in Mozambique. Today was one of those mornings. Maybe it was due to the “post-season depression” as my mom calls it, but I woke up this morning unsettled, longing for the life I once had. So my sister doesn’t freak out, let me clarify- I don’t want to move back to Africa; I don’t think I’m supposed to. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t days when I physically ache with longing to be back there.
Some days it feels like that year was a long, Leonardo DiCaprio-inspired dream. My reality in California makes my reality from Mozambique seem utterly bizarre. These worlds are so radically different, so drastically far from each other that it seems almost impossible for them to exist simultaneously.
Few moments are worse than when you get home and realize that your fly has been down all day. Or your shirt is on inside out. Or you have cilantro smiling from your front teeth or a cliff-hanging booger or dry blood smeared on your neck from a zit you scratched in the morning. That moment of realization is an awful one. I immediately think back to everyone I saw during the day and wonder why nobody told me.
But I know why they didn’t tell me.
Two reasons really.
Either (A)- they didn’t notice.
Or (B)- they were being “polite” and didn’t want to embarrass me.
I plan on vacuuming my room today. It’s been a few months and I have a cat who sheds so the carpet in my room is borderline disgusting right now. But I HATE vacuuming and will use any excuse in the book not to. For the past few months my excuse has been: I’ll clean once I’m not so busy with basketball. Well, our season officially ended last night. It wasn’t an awesome ending but it was an awesome season. And now I have time to do those things on my to-do list which I’ve been putting off “because of basketball” like vacuuming my room and washing my sheets and clipping my toenails. Who knows, maybe I’ll get real crazy and open my mail from the past 4 months.
This week a professor at Westmont asked me for a picture of myself coaching to put on their website to advertise the credential program. I asked our fabulous yearbook gal/my fabulous friend
if there were any on stock from last year and she sent over some pretty ridiculous pictures. I’ve reached a few conclusions looking at these pictures:
1- It’s impossible to look intense and cute at the same time.
2- I really do look like the White Witch from Narnia.
3- I should NEVER coach in sleeveless shirts. (I’m not degrading myself- I realize I have manly arms. Always have. When I was FOUR, a stranger asked my mom if they made me lift weights)